


Part One: The Book of Bakenranef

by golden_bastet



Series: Horizon of the Aten [1]
Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 15:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_bastet/pseuds/golden_bastet





	1. Chapter 1

The river shone beautiful, a mercury ribbon lazily unfurling beneath the rays of the golden-warm sun. At this time of the year - the Akhet season, as the river surged over its banks and farming came to a halt - the sun rode its chariot high overhead and the current was strong, strong enough to sweep away an unwary hippopotamus. But despite the hazards, the land was in harmony; it was a beautiful, classic day, one to thank all the gods for their blessings.

Three craft cut their way through the waters of the Great Road, leaping amongst the white horses as the wind pushed them downstream. More officious-looking than the normal skiffs to be found, each vessel had several ranks of rowers sat in position on both sides, though the oarsmen had little to do beyond keeping control as the craft made their way to the destination just coming into focus.

Up on the deck of the lead ship, a cluster of figures stood to the rear of the oarsmen, eyes trained on the approaching target. One, standing off to the side, stretched as he gazed towards the shore. A handsome man, he was solidly built, a network of well-defined muscles criss-crossing his arms, legs, and chest. The stomach was firm, though a slight roundness hinted at an enjoyment of life. And crowned by the darkest brown hair and startling blue eyes, it was clear that he was more than capable of easily partaking in those enjoyments.

This was Bakenranef, an archer in Pharaoh's army.

Bakenranef had spent much of his life in the military; years spent first in the Land of Punt then at Abu, the capital of Ta-Seti, keeping Pharaoh's peace among the Kushites. Life out on the border was a world unto itself; busy guarding a major trading outpost with its share of foreign intrigue and the occasional native rebellion, the soldiers had been away from civilisation for years. Letters from home had fuelled tales of unrest and upheaval throughout Khem amongst his unit, but none of them had any direct experience of what was happening to the land. For men who had left home as mere youths, only the reports of their superiors could supply reliable information; and their superiors would relate only what they felt it necessary for the men to know - which was often nothing.

Thus their return was to a land they had no true knowledge of.

At this particular moment, a smile played across Bakenranef's lips; he regarded the end of the voyage with a tinge of anticipation. He'd always felt a sort of restlessness in his core, eating away at his very bones. Trapped on The Great Road as a passenger on this vessel made him feel boxed in. The feel of the wind and the shifting of the deck beneath his feet was exhilarating, but the inaction was stifling. He wanted nothing so much as to fly over a rough road in his chariot, ready to release the arrow notched in his bow, let it fly to hit the heart of his target.

Even handling the oars, menial as that was, would have been a change.

He'd be glad to see the journey end, and have the chance to keep himself busy.

On the horizon, he could just make out buildings along the eastern shore, rising up to mark what must be the southern boundary of the city. The journey had been oddly bereft of the river traffic that clogged the waters around Abu, so the few small fishing craft coming into view were reassuring, though still far below the numbers a thriving city should have.

_Do they not fish here? What do they eat?_ He hoped it wasn't all onions and leeks.

A series of docks moved into view, and then there it was: Akhetaten, the Horizon of the Aten. The city built by the Heretic Pharaoh alongside this barren stretch of the Nile and abandoned once he was gone.

# # #

As the oarsmen manoeuvred the large vessel alongside a long dock, the soldiers gazed long and carefully at the place that was their new home.

Nothing in the deepest imagination could match the glory of the wonder that had unfurled beside the pivoting craft.

Low buildings hugged the shoreline like the finest linen on a beautiful woman. A master architect had arranged the layout to complement the location it had been set into, rather than impose majesty upon it. It was unlike anything they'd known or seen in Kush.

And then the boat had docked, the men had hoisted their kits, and the 'Chariots of Khnum' battalion of Pharaoh's army had assembled on the dock and marched into Akhetaten.

Their march through the city to the old barracks, where they would reside, only reinforced that first impression; graceful buildings flowed into one another, wide boulevards invited the visitor to stroll and enjoy. Even with several abandoned structures here, other unfinished structures there, everything harmonised with its surroundings.

Despite expectations, it was truly a great - a royal city.

True, Akhetaten wasn't the only great city of Khem. Wastet with all its many wonders was great unto itself; but it had already stood for thousands of years when the Pharaohs had shifted their capital from Men-nefer in the north to Wastet and the munificence of the great god Amun. And _that_ had been thousands of years ago.

No, Akhetaten was different, in a land centred on tradition: a new location, built solely for the glory of the Heretic's god the Aten. A place that thirty short years earlier, not even a mere blink of the eye to the gods, had been mere desert wasteland.

Bakenranef gazed around. _All this beauty, for such a wicked purpose._

He had been very young when the Heretic had come to his end, and he was far from being any sort of theologian; but it wasn't clear to him at all how a city of one god would function in a country which had had thousands of gods for thousands of years. The capital and the country had to mirror each another in that respect, otherwise there would be conflict between the two and _ma'at_, harmony and justice, would be lost. And that was what had happened in the end, after all; in this case, the city had lost, and beyond a few stragglers unable to make their way back into the real world, this place was now stripped of inhabitants. Those left here, even if not by choice, were the damned upon earth, and their imaginary world no longer held any weight or relevance.

Then again, it really wasn't his concern. He was here to do his duty by Pharaoh and the country - and that was it. And really, he doubted that Amun - or the Aten, if it came to that - would truly be concerned with whatever a lowly soldier got up to, as long as he _did_ do his duty when it mattered.

Well, he'd likely find out soon enough. They would be stationed here for as long as Pharaoh chose to decree, and there hadn't been much more decreed beyond that they would be stationed here.


	2. Chapter 2

"Not a bad place, this. Not as bad as I'd thought, anyway."

Bakenranef turned to look at the man speaking to him, crosslegged on his pallet. Ramose was a solid, dark-haired man with an arrestingly direct brown-eyed gaze, who hailed from the Delta, where the Great Road met the Great Green Sea. Having grown up in a military family and joining the ranks himself at the age of 14, now a veteran of campaigns and locations, the man had seen it all, and much of it with Bakenranef. They'd been partnered in many a chariot battle, and kept each other alive. Bakenranef considered him a good soldier, a fine companion, and the closest thing he had to a friend. He trusted him with his life, so the man's opinion came with some weight.

"S'not a huge city, at all," Ramose continued. "And even smaller than when it was the capital. Still, a bit of civilisation here, with some fine buildings.

"Been a long time since we've been in civilisation. Here, you can take a stroll down the main boulevard; and they say there's a small village by the river. It'd be nice to explore, and have a pleasant time of it. Can just imagine the river breezes while a pretty miss serves you a perfect fried fish."

"Been checking out the local talent, then?" Bakenranef teased. "Already?"

"Unfortunately no," Ramose laughed ruefully. "The week we've been here has all been spent in the barracks, as you know. Just find this place more restful than most postings."

"Well, don't get too comfortable, Lord High-and-Mighty," Bakenranef grinned, "patrol first, then romance." They both knew that the order could be switched if need be.

"There is never an issue in that regard - though you're one to talk. I always do the job at hand, including any fair maidens who might cross my path," Ramose smiled, then grew serious. "Though not so sure about that lot in the Temple."

"You mean the priests of the Aten?"

"Yeah. As far as ministering to the great unwashed goes, they aren't very welcoming over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the temple looming in the near distance. "Talked to a couple of soldiers about them. They spend a lot of time with their god - and gods above, not begrudging them that, it's their jobs - but they don't seem to have time for anything else. Obviously no _Opet_ festival to welcome the flooding of the Great Road - that's for the old gods, anyway - but no parades through the streets. Few hours that the regular folk can go in to petition favours. Individually or as a group, their priests don't go out for charitable works, not even down to that collection of decaying huts by the water. Never saw anything like it in any other temple."

"What? No raising of the skirts like the Festival of Bastet? I'm wounded."

Ramose rolled his eyes.

"My favourite part of that visiting delegation from Per-Bast," Bakenranef smacked his lips, savouring the memory like a fine wine. "And plenty there who were under fifty, still warm and came across." _Both women and men,_ though he didn't add that bit.

Ramose laughed himself. "Not all festivals are the same. Though I'm not telling you something you don't already know."

"Well, at any rate, it's no skin off my nose," Bakenranef replied, nonchalantly. "Just some toffs in a temple. Who knows what they get up to in there, anyway? I've have the distinct pleasure of encountering some cults whose priests love their singular pleasures."

"Oh, the Atenists are most definitely not running a Temple of Ishtar. If anything, I'd bet their practices involve a vow of chastity." Ramose laughed at the sour look on his friend's face. "You, my friend, wouldn't last an afternoon in their precincts."

"Wouldn't want to - that's completely unnatural."

"May not be natural, but it's what they believe."

"Well, few believe in just the Aten anymore, either, but the priests still get along, whether or not hordes of supplicants follow them. But the hordes don't matter, do they? Been doing for themselves near onto twenty years now, and they're still there."

"Doesn't work that way, Bakenranef. The people need to know that the gods are watching over them. If they can't approach the gods, can't even approach the gods' representatives, that doesn't make for happy subjects."

"Happy or not, don't really give a toss. Me, I'm here to do my job, and that's it. Looking out for number one. I get on with it; so do they. As long as they don't get in my way, and we're all playing at happy families, everything progresses and everyone's got theirs."

"Yeah, well, hopefully it stays that way," Ramose replied.

# # #

Within a few weeks, Bakenranef felt he'd sorted out the general measure of life in Akhetaten. Every morning his unit marched out of the barracks, made their way to the main boulevard, did a few turns, then marched back into the barracks. This was followed up by several hours of military games in the courtyard, followed by the midday meal, weapons check, and policing their living areas.

For whatever reason, the chariots had not been deployed. Bakenranef, who hated the lot of the foot soldier, missed them deeply. He imagined they had to be nearby, he wasn't sure where.

In the meantime, life was slow and stifling.

They had seen few civilians in the city. Out on march, a few inhabitants would stand to the side to let them pass - fascinated or indifferent, it was hard to tell from within formation - until the military display headed back behind the high gates.

That was virtually their only contact with the locals.

A sense of complacency - or more accurately, restlessness - was beginning to play across Bakenranef's skin.

One particular day, Bakenranef and Ramose found themselves with bellies filled, weapons honed and polished, sleeping mats stowed, and time on their hands.

"Well?" Bakenranef's left eyebrow arched in query.

"Well, what?" Ramose queried back. "Can't read your mind, Bakenranef."

"Let's see what this place has to offer. Find out as much as we can. And not a bad way to burn off the boredom."

"Take advantage of that 'boredom' while you can, Bakenranef - it won't last forever," Ramose started, then relented. "Eh, why not? You're right, we should get what knowledge we can."

They checked in with the duty desk at the gate, and within a few minutes found themselves strolling down the boulevard away from the barracks. Scattered figures moved through the early afternoon haze, but the constant quiet of the city hung like a shroud. Their audience from the morning's march was long gone, presumably to attend to the day's tasks.

"There are people here; we know that. Has to be someplace to get a pint, take a load off," Bakenranef pointed out with a bit of a whinge. "M'feeling a bit peckish."

"We just had midday rations, Bakenranef," Ramose laughed. "And it's only going to get hotter. Where are you storing all this food?"

By this point, they had walked far enough to pull up parallel to the border wall of the Small Temple of the Aten. They stopped to stand in the shade of a tree for an instant. "S'not that much to eat, for a growing lad like me," Bakenranef patted his stomach. "Burn it off in no time."

"Right, you and your food. That's all you ever talk about. Keep at it and you'll have no luck with what few birds around here would help you burn it off."

Bakenranef offered a two-fingered salute. "S'not like it's the only thing I talk about. I'm tall, dark, and engagingly modest, with a scintillating wit and the ability to hold forth on any subject."

"Right," Ramose snorted. "You couldn't stop talking about food to save your life."

"Go ahead; besmirch my honour," Bakenranef mock-sniffed. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I most definitely can avoid food. Can get you talking about it before I do, that's for sure."

"A bet, then? Okay, you're on. What're the stakes?"

"Hmmm... whoever next mentions food does the other's bidding."

"Right. That, old son, will get us both drummed out of the corps."

Bakenranef winced in memory of a few past escapades that _had_ come near getting them kicked out. "Well, then - just a friendly bet. Between the two of us. Of the you-carry-my-kit, I-do-you-laundry-for-a-week type."

"Okay - agreed. Shouldn't take more than five minutes. We can -"

The sounds of a commotion broke off the negotiation. Further down the way, the gates of the temple were slowly, if a bit unsteadily, creaking open.

"Now you've done it; even the heretics heard you," Ramose said.

Bakenranef snorted in derision. "Right. Well, let's see what the heretics have on offer."

They shifted a bit to better position themselves in the shade and waited to see who would emerge from the Small Temple of the Aten.

Despite the relative quiet of the city, Bakenranef thought it was fortunate that they had none of their military insignia on as they wandered the streets. Oh, he was under no misapprehension that they'd be pegged as anything beyond "that lot off the military ships"; but appearing outside in a regular kilt and without weapons would make their presence a little more palatable to the locals.

_Or visible weapons, anyway. No need to take risks, after all._

But this was different. It looked like the priests were streaming out for some sort of procession.

"Thought they didn't do that kind of thing," Bakenranef muttered. "Then again, they don't do much normal."

"Maybe they do have a festival day, after all. Or they're making an exception just for us."

"Well, then," Bakenranef mused, "let's hope they put on a good show."

And with that, the gates swung open completely.

Bakenranef had witnessed many a temple festival and feast-day, had taken part in more than his share of celebrations; but he'd never seen anything as... ascetic as the procession of white-garbed figures spilling forth from the Temple of the Aten. Perhaps it was that there were few people - no dancers, or jugglers, or others to line the path and amuse onlookers; but he found it odd to watch the few rows of priests, walking head-down through the dust, fists against their chests, their chants carrying on the hot, still air.

_Scruffy lot, that,_ Bakenranef thought. Though truthfully, they weren't scruffy, just - plain. Definitely nowhere as ornate as the priests of Amun's temple. Unlike the layers of colourful garments and myriad jewels to honour the old gods, these adherents wore simple tunics and kilts of bright white linen, surprisingly crisp despite the midday heat. Their steps were measured and precise, carrying their mass forward and along the length of the boulevard.

Curious despite himself, Bakenranef studied the lines of Atenists filing past. It was a mix, despite its small size: mostly people of Khem, but some Nubians, a couple of citizens of Punt, even a few Hittites. Men - and they were all men, no women in this group - trod in lock-step, focused only on their chants and their path, an array of figures different and yet all the same.

Although the scrawny one at the end wasn't quite the same.

He was a mutt, a mix; of Khem, but of another tribe as well. Rail-thin and wiry; didn't look strong enough to blow over a feather, though Bakenranef knew well enough not to judge ability by sight. A very definite walk that proved him sure of himself, Atenist or not. And perhaps most surprisingly, a mop of auburn curls adorned the head. Very clearly and obviously unshaven, which Bakenranef found odd in religious practice.

_But who knew what those sods over in that temple got up to, anyway?_

The head tilted up, and just for a second, their eyes met.

_His eyes are blue-green. Like the Great Road_. Bakenranef was surprised.

"C'mon, Bakenranef," Ramose nudged him with his elbow. "They're doing a lot of nothing, and we should shove off anyway before we have to get back to the barracks."

Bakenranef nodded somewhat absentmindedly in response. Ramose peered over in the direction that Bakenranef had been looking.

The curly haired man most clearly scowled, then looked down again.

"What an odd lot," Ramose mused. "And that one on the end looked as though he'd bite the head off a crocodile, given enough reason."

"Yeah, you're right," Bakenranef agreed, brightening. "And I believe you owe me a fish."

"Owe you a fish? What the gods for??"

"'Bite?' 'Crocodile?' Food. You lost the bet, mate."

Ramose gave his own two-fingered salute as they headed off down the boulevard, away from the procession.

# # #

Headed in the general direction of the water, in search of the village, Bakenranef and Ramose had made it some distance towards the southern end of the city before they noticed a path branching off the boulevard towards the water. Encouraged by this turn of events, they followed the path until it led to a small cluster of mud buildings nestled by the banks of the Great Road.

It was easy enough to spot a small House of Beer, alive with the sounds of raucous commerce, just a couple of buildings in to the settlement.

"Gentlemen - we've been awaiting your pleasure! Come right in!" a boisterous, heavyset man, undoubtedly the proprietor, beckoned at them, waving them in. "Make yourselves at home and we'll get you settled right away."

The two men moved out of the glare of the sun, which was at its afternoon peak, and slid into the welcoming shade of the building. Once they'd adjusted to the relative darkness, it was clear that that the room was small and the crowd sparse, though enthusiastic. Bakenranef nodded at some space along a bench, and they threaded their way over to claim the seats.

"Welcome, gents, welcome to the Flying Carp!" A rotund woman made her way over to them, a jug of beer and two drinking dishes in her hands. Bakenranef noticed she looked quite a bit like the proprietor, and assumed she must be his wife. She placed the dishes before them, pouring a generous measure of beer into each; then straightened, smiling. "Now, what can I get for you? Got the finest perch in 10,000 cubits right here. Fresh caught from mere yards away."

Bakenranef looked at his companion, who merely rolled his eyes in response. "Perch are sacred, no? That, then, is why you're called the Flying Carp." The woman merely laughed in response, a full-bellied guffaw. "We'll have a perch, then, please, and a bowl of leeks to start."

"Right away, sirs!" And the woman waddled off, to disappear through a doorway.

"Hope you enjoy your meal. Forgive me if I pass; I managed to eat my fill during the noon meal. As did you."

"Well, never hurts to top it off."

"I have no idea where you put it, Bakenranef. Don't ask me to help when your belly rejects it all."

"Have a fine constitution, I do. Never had a problem with my food."

Ramose just shook his head in surrender.

"Interesting place, though," Bakenranef gestured around the room. "We could be anywhere in Khem."

It was true. A small statuette of Khnum hung over the entryway; a Hathor charm overlooked the doorway into the back room; and a riotous figurine of Bes, flask aloft, stood guard over the jugs of beer. Various relics hung about the room, none of which involved the Aten.

"You're right, Bakenranef - like anywhere in Khem," Ramose replied. "Except for Akhetaten."

Just then, the woman waddled back with a wide dish of steamed fragrant leeks, and a plate of a succulent perch, which she placed on the table before them. "Enjoy, gentlemen!" And she waddled off to tend to her other customers.

"Yeah, Bakenranef - enjoy!" Ramose echoed, bemused, and folded his arms as he watched his friend dig in.

# # #

Bakenranef tossed on his pallet on the darkness. The restlessness was a constant companion, with little to be done about it.

They'd now been stationed in Akhetaten for nigh on two months, and in all that time, nothing had changed. Every day they bustled through the same military routine. Sometimes the men amused themselves with interminable rounds of boxing, which he tended to win, or games of hounds and jackals, which Kebu, one of the younger archers in charge of the game boards, had the advantage at. The idea of a trip to the village down by the river had lost its novelty; he and Ramose stayed in more often than not.

There was nothing to do but wait.

And await Pharaoh's pleasure.

Most of the men around him were stretched on their pallets, deep in sleep. He lay awake, staring up at the sky. The restlessness simmered beneath his skin.

He quietly rolled up into a sitting position. In the dim light, the bodies were stretched out in more or less orderly rows; but contrary to his own crowded thoughts, nothing else seemed to stir.

_Dammit._ It would be a long night. Bakenranef slid to his feet, quiet, and gazed again. All remained quiet. He silently made his way to the door and looked out.

A few fires were scattered around the site, but the guards themselves were quiet, with several apparently nodding off. Here in the middle of nowhere, with virtually no enemies beyond the occasional animal predator slinking down from the mountains, security was minimal. Bakenranef headed to the edge of the grounds, nodding at one guard who opened an eye just long enough to identify him, and relieved himself; then, throwing caution to the winds and following his inner demons, decided to go into Akhetaten.


	3. Chapter 3

As a soldier, Bakenranef was well used to living rough; no shrinking violet, he faced discomfort as a temporary condition, to be ignored until it passed.

In fact, discomfort could serve to open the door to pleasures. He thought of past actions on the border - rough and tumble, full of noise and blood and battle - which turned into feasting and visits to the grotto of love once the fighting was done.

_Straightforward, cut and dried, everyone knew what was expected. But this place -_

His legs began to stretch out, his pace speeding up, feet pounding with an anger he normally kept buried.

_This place - no orders, no nothing, we march out and do nothing. Nothing changes!_

His walk now transformed into a run through the streets of Akhetaten, Bakenranef chased after ghosts, or perhaps trying to outrun invisible spiders crawling up his spine. Feet pounding, lungs working, heart beating, but silent for all that: he was alive and aware of his body, he felt every nerve, every sense tingling.

The restlessness had been chased off, at least for a few moments.

Something caught his attention and he changed direction, to hurtle down a side street. _What's here?_ For all the time they'd spent in Akhetaten, Bakenranef rarely wandered the city alone. This pre-dawn run was taking him through parts of Akhetaten that he had never seen, past abandoned districts and barely inhabited structures; all almost ghost-like, much like the few remaining inhabitants, tethered here by shame.

_Like that annoying priest._ Bakenranef inwardly snorted at the memory. _All those priests. Stupid gits in that temple have no idea how bollocked up their lives are, hitching their chariots to the Heretic's star. They'll all die, and then they'll die again in the Afterworld._

Even he knew that.

Though he'd never truly given a thought to the state of his own soul.

The inky sky was gradually softening, the shapes around him beginning to coalesce into recognisable forms. In a few minutes the solar barque would rear up from beyond the Eastern cliffs, and he'd have to turn back before the barracks arose and he was missed.

He turned towards the Great Temple of the Aten, on his way back the barracks. He could make out details in the edge of the field behind the temple: the slight roll of the land, the palm trees bordering it, the last palm tree at the edge of which marked the boundary with the desert -

Something in the field caught his attention. He slowed his pace, panting, wary.

It was a figure, alone, facing the mountains, waiting.

_One of those Aten freaks, then. Who else would be out here at this time of night?_ But curious, Bakenranef pulled up behind a palm tree and stopped, waiting to see what would come next.

_After all, never seen a heretic in action before._

The figure was bent over, chest heaving, hands on thighs, as though it'd been running a marathon - or as though it awaited something.

The sky lightened more and the figure because more distinct, chiseled out of the darkness. It was male, dressed simply in a linen kilt: thin, but well-built, a sense of power in the motionless stance. And unshaven: it was light enough to see a darkened mass capping the head.

_Hello - it's the Atenist mutt._

Just then, the first tentative ray of sun peaked over the cliff - and the figure smoothly unfolded, dropped his kilt, and came to life. There was no other way to describe it: the arms arched up, the form was outlined by the sun, on fire.

And then arose a deep-voiced chant:

_I breathe the sweet breath_

_Which comes forth from thy mouth._

_I behold thy beauty every day._

_It is my desire_

_That I may be rejuvenated_

_With life through love_

_Of thee._

_Give me thy hands, holding thy spirt,_

_That I may receive it and may live by it. _

_Call thou upon my name unto eternity,_

_And it shall never fail._

The words lasted just long enough to the sun to clear the mountain ridge.

Bakenranef was mesmerized.

# # #

"Lose something, Sunshine?" The vision spoke, though the words didn't match. "Keep gaping like that, and the flies will think your tongue is a spoiling piece of meat."

Bakenranef came back to earth with a thud, now more aware of his surroundings.

He shifted, to get the sun out of his eyes. He was leaning against the palm. Before him stood the figure from the field, the early morning sun illuminating him in a soft orange. He was now clothed, wrapped once again in the linen kilt.

_A shame to cover that body._

It was then that Bakenranef realised his mouth _had_ been agape. He closed it.

He had learned young that the best defence was a good offence; that was the path he chose. "No, saw you standing there, was wondering what fool would be out in the dark." But, of course, no need to overdo it. "There's a curfew or two in effect, you know."

"Why, so you can butcher us?" The man stated a fact more than asked a question.

"What are you on about?" This wasn't purely rhetorical on Bakenranef's part. "We're here to keep the peace, is all." Though it sounded lame even to him.

"Keep the peace by getting rid of us, you mean. Yes, I'm one of those Atenists. We aren't stupid, you know. We know why you lot are here."

"Well, who are 'we' and what have you done that we're to get rid of you?"

"Berk - you're the new Pharaoh's lot - "

"That's 'new Pharaoh, Life, Prosperity, Health' to you," said Bakenranef, more out of habit than anything else.

"_**His**_ military, sent to enforce his bidding. Everyone is well aware Pharaoh's sent you to 'take care' of us, remove all traces of the past. Mind, we've been here for decades. After Pharaoh Akhenaten passed," and the "life, health, prosperity" was heartfelt, though Bakenranef just managed not to wince at the Heretic's name, "we took over duties at the Temple of the Aten. Someone had to continue on with the ceremonies, even if the new Pharaohs - 'life, prosperity, health'," he added quickly, though with a note of disdain, "had walked back to the old religion.

"Most leave us alone, afraid we'll contaminate them. Some hardier souls with something to prove figure they'll try to stop us from whatever fantasy they have us doing. It's just a matter of time before someone decides we're too much of an inconvenience and outright kills us.

"So why should you behave any differently?"

"Maybe those aren't our orders, sunshine." Though no other possible orders immediately came to mind.

"Well, if you're not about to kill me - at least not today - you should be on your way. Doubt your lot would want you to have anything to do with us. I have things to attend to, either way."

"That's rather abrupt. I thought priests were kindly souls, out to help the flock."

"Yes, and maybe the flock bit one too many times. We may be a bunch of dull-witted priests; but learned our lesson, haven't we?"

And with that, he turned, picked up a small sack, and left.

Bakenranef stood, watching the figure recede. _What a berk! If they're all like that, it's no wonder their cult failed._

But a part of him was filled with a grudging admiration. He couldn't remember the last time he'd run up against that much spunk.

# # #

"Ran into one of the heretics."

Bakenranef had given it some thought, and felt it easier not to divulge all the details of his early-morning runs, not even to Ramose. But a few words wouldn't hurt.

"What a contrary lot. You say up, they say down; you say left, they say right. Easy to see where they went wrong."

"Tend to keep to themselves, don't they?" Ramose seemed only mildly interested, despite their lack of direct contact with the Atenists.

"Not surprised, the way that one went on. You'd think I'd kicked his altar over or something."

"Oh, really? What'd 'e say?"

"Acted extremely put out. Expected me to slaughter him." Bakenranef frowned. "M'usually pretty good with strangers. Must be losing my touch."

"Ha! Can imagine that, a civilian runt running into a lout like you. How'd you bump into him, then?"

"Am far from a lout." Bakenranef sniffed, mock-aggrieved, then continued. "There I was, minding my business. He was out for a suntan, I suppose. Isn't that what they do?" And they both laughed.

"Yes, they're odd over there. Though I'd say be careful, Bakenranef. We wouldn't be here if our eventual orders didn't have something to do with the Heretic's remainders. We don't know what might happen, and you don't want to be caught collaborating with any enemies of Pharaoh."

"True, that," Bakenranef replied, though he wondered. _They're not the Hyksos or the Hittites; they're a bunch of priests of a dying religion in the middle of nowhere, unable to influence anybody. What would be gained by killing them?_ He didn't know.

# # #

The following morning, Bakenranef was out, once again, tracking the circuit he'd taken the previous day. Down the side of the broad boulevard, pulling up parallel to the high wall that marked the Great Temple of Aten. He followed the patterned mud bricks, the indentation at the gates coming into view then spreading into their grand curves, only to converge together again on the far side into the same pattern. Then turning the corner and following the side until it petered out.

He hadn't looked as closely before, but the wall at its far end, where it ran into the edge of town, dispersing into a pile of rubble rather than organically growing from it.

And there was the man again, standing naked, waiting for the imminent sunrise.

As a ray broke over the cliffs, he rose, his arms came up, and he soared into his song. It was as though Bakenranef's spirit was following the priest's, drawn in, rising up, though not to quite the same height as the Atenist's. They floated up before the city, dancing through the air; and then the hymn was over, and they found themselves back in their bodies, bathed in the morning sun.

Or at least that was how it felt to Bakenranef.

The priest wrapped himself up into his kilt and made his way towards Bakenranef.

"Back again, soldier? No place to call home?" he snapped.

"You're in fine fettle this morning, Sunshine. Don't like my company?"

"Not sure what you get out of this. Just standing there, gaping," he replied with a tinge of skepticism.

"So I've graduated from 'spy,' then?" _Well, that's something._

"Haven't graduated from anything at this point." The Atenist wasn't giving ground at all.

"Tell me about the Aten. And before you say it," the Atenist already had his mouth open, "I'm not here to execute you."

"Never a dull moment with you. What do you want to know about the Aten?"

"What's the," he stopped, then started again. "No. Most folk worship what they know. Said you were a foundling. How did you end up at the temple?"

"Well, was a foundling - "

"Said that already," he cut then man off. "Oh, okay, I'll shut up and let you finish now," he stopped, at the look of pure annoyance on the Atenist's face.

"As well you should," he replied crisply, pausing before continuing. "Was left on the steps of the temple. The priests raised me; started learning the rituals before I could walk. The Aten is all around us, blesses us, illuminates all and makes the crops grow. It's as simple as that."

"But what about Amon-Ra, Horus, Hathor, Isis?," Bakenranef continued. "There's too much in the world for one god to cover."

"I cannot convince souls by word alone. But proof of the Aten is all around. The Aten's world are larger than one man - or god. And," the priest switched gears, "you can't have come out just to watch me."

_Really, no idea why I'm here ._ "Taking a morning run. Running does a body a world of good. If you don't want an audience, then maybe you shouldn't perform in public."

It was interesting how quickly anger broke over the other man. "Worship is sacred and personal. Didn't have any audience gadding about before you came round."

"Yeah, well, no law against being out at this time of night."

"Maybe 'no law' if you're a soldier. Technically, the people who live here are not supposed to be out - that curfew that you mentioned yesterday. And I'm not 'out'; this is my home."

"Touché. I'm outside the temple, not in your yard. So consider me a neighbour."

"Sure. You don't respect gates, so I'll just peg you as the annoying soldier next door."

Once again, he picked up his kit and strode off.

Bakenranef felt energised - even more energised than the run had made him.

# # #

The grim silence of Akhetaten continued, unabated. The daily cycles passed, Amun-Ra making numerous circuits on the solar barque, and nothing happened.

The restlessness had come back, worked its way into Bakenranef's very fingertips.

Sometimes he beat it back with a sparring session, or wrestling with Ramose; but it was always there, crawling beneath the surface of his skin, pushing to get out.

The only thing that seemed to help was the dawn runs, and he hadn't been able to sneak out for several days.

He longed for a hippopotamus to kill.

Ramose had guard duty this day, so was elsewhere. Instead, Bakenranef chose to wander the streets of Akhetaten alone.

The boulevard stretched out beneath the hot midday sun. One or two figures had ventured out into the heat, crossing here and there; but otherwise there was little beyond the lazy musical buzz of insects and the enveloping heat.

Bakenranef would have expected to - wanted to, _needed_ to - see a few more souls, and he thought he knew where he could find some. _Down the boulevard, in the village._ He turned his steps southwards.

He and Ramose had spent their few visits to the village at the small House of Beer they'd found that first day; Bakenranef could now say how many nicks were on the stool three in from the door, and the best day of the week to order the whole perch, rather than the pieces. But he knew little about the rest of the village, including its layout.

_Well, that's easily remedied._ When he eventually got to the turn in the boulevard that branched off into the small path, he followed the track down and through the reeds into the village.

As he'd thought, there were more bodies out there braving the rays of the sun than up in the main part of the city; perhaps, having responsibilities, they had no choice in the matter. He sauntered down the small road, slowed down to gaze at the House of Beer, then determinedly picked up his pace to pass it and continue on.

Even as a small village, this one did look down around the edges. Many of the small dusty huts sported patches over patches over patches along their walls. Next to one building, a scrawny cow, just this side of skin and bones, forlornly swished its tail. It lowed at him.

"You're lucky you weren't born a hippo," Bakenranef growled at the animal.

Soon enough he found himself at the end of the road, and the edge of the village. Before him, the land dipped down into a thick stand of reeds separating him from the waters of the Great Road. Off to the side stood a small tent - a cloth covering on poles, really - inside which Bakenranef could just see a large jar of beer, nearly half the height of a human.

Tempted, he made his way to the tent - and something made him pause, just in time to hear voices from within. He followed his instincts into the weeds at the side of the structure, out of direct line of sight.

The click of dishes and a slight slurping sounded the consumption of beer. Someone cleared their throat. A low voice said, "Well, they're here now, aren't they? We're going to have to act soon, else the decision will be taken away from us."

"Keep your head. They know nothing, We have more than enough time to plan this out carefully."

"And the second they find out, we're all thrown to the crocodiles!"

"Stop your whingeing; no one is going to be thrown to the crocodiles. We got through the last ten years, we'll get through this."

"But -"

"But nothing. If you lose your head, we've already lost. We'll continue on as we have been, and we'll finish what we started."

Silence, and then the second voice urged: "Okay?"

"Okay," replied the worrier.

"Then let's leave, we've been gone too long already."

Bakenranef made sure he was out of direct sight as two figures emerged from the tent. Peering through the reeds to the side of the tent, he could just make out a head of curls on one of the men walking away.

_Now that's interesting._

Curly-Haired stopped and turned back towards the tent. Bakenranef carefully crouched further down in the reeds.

Frowning, the man turned back and continued on with his companion.

# # #

Before Akhetaten, if Bakenranef had ever run into a shady character, he would have reported in to his commanding officer and shot the offending party clean through with an arrow - and not necessarily in that order.

This time, however, his reaction was far, far different.

He reasoned with himself that he hadn't heard enough to know what the pair had been talking about.

_They were automatically under suspicion just due to being in the city. Then again, the presence of Pharaoh's troops would be enough to set anyone on edge. And it was all an act anyway; they'd known he was hiding outside._

There were many possible excuses for the brief snippets he'd heard. He wanted a chance to find out more.

Nothing to do with that glorious body, alive in worship, afire in the sun's rays. And Amon-Ra _was_ the sun - so it wasn't heretical to think about it. Him.

Indeed it _was_ his duty to find out what was going on and report it in if necessary. It was very curious that one of that Aten lot would come out from behind his high walls and meet with a villager who, if the House of Beer were any indication, had reverted back to worshipping the same gods as everyone else in Khem.

Yes, curious indeed. _And_, he reminded himself yet again, _my duty_.

A plan to do just that was coming together in his mind.

# # #

It was the time of the new moon.

Khonsu was passing through his rebirth, leaving the heavens as dark as the heart of the snake god Apep. Bakenranef found it easier to sneak away from camp and make his silent way to the temple precincts. Once there, armed with a few fruits for company, he crouched down to wait.

He was on his third apple when the gate of the temple creaked open a sliver. He took a last bite of the fruit, quietly dropped it by his foot, and straightened out to his full height, ready to see where this development would lead him.

A head peered around the small opening, looking; then the entire figure slipped out and closed the gate behind it. Wiry, but powerful for all that - Bakenranef recognised the snarky priest. A thin smile played along his lips.

The man turned towards the hills, away from the Great Road, and followed the road through the city towards the cliffs to the east.

Bakenranef silently followed in pursuit.

_What a perfect arse._ He wasn't sure if he meant the behaviour or the body.

A few cubits down, the figure cut off into a side street. Bakenranef peeked around the corner, then slipped in behind him.

He didn't see him at first _where did he get to?_ but ah - just there ahead, the figure sliced through the darkness. Bakenranef picked up his pace slightly to avoid losing him.

Then the figure just - disappeared. The pathway was empty and quiet, with no sign of the other man.

_What the nine hells._ There was nowhere for him to have gone. Bakenranef moved more quickly to the spot, now more concerned about losing his prey then making noise.

But no one was there.

_Now what?_ Bakenranef turned slowly in the street, thinking of his next steps, when he heard a sound, turned - and a ball of fury launched itself at him.

Taken by surprise, he was knocked to his knees and then his back. Working on instinct, he put all his training to use, several times almost righting himself, but still ended up on his back, a knife at his throat, the priest furious above him.

"Why are you following me?" the figure growled.

"Why are you threatening a soldier of Pharaoh's army?" he parlayed back. Truthfully, he felt more than a wisp of intoxication at the weight holding him down.

"According to Pharaoh's code, soldiers are not permitted to harass citizens - much less priests - without cause. I am well within my rights to claim self defence." The knife pressed a bit more into Bakenranef's skin, though nowhere near deep enough to do any real damage.

"S'not self-defence when you're off to cause mischief."

"If I were 'causing mischief,' sunshine, you would have had a pack of your friends backing you up."

"Fair enough. I did follow you alone. And if you can shift a bit so I can breathe, we can talk this over reasonably." Bakenranef was also starting to feel a different reaction - a familiar one, low in his loins, but one that he didn't want the other man to know about.

Perhaps he didn't, perhaps he did, but he shifted to stand at lightning speed. He, however, remained alert, knife at the ready, at enough of a distance that Bakenranef wouldn't be able to overpower him by surprise.

Bakenranef in the meantime rearranged his kilt and loincloth, regained his dignity, and came to his feet.

"Look," he began, not yet sure how he'd talk himself out of this, "m'sure it's not easy out here, the world seemingly against you -"

"'The world' does include Pharaoh's army," the man pointed out.

"Technically yes, it does, though we have no orders regarding your lot. Frankly, this has all been a bit of a snooze. I've been out for walks to keep from going crazy."

"And that's why you were hiding in the reeds, then?"

_Uh-oh._ He had been seen.

"Actually, yes. It was hot, saw the beer in the tent, was about to pop in for a draught, heard voices. Didn't know who was in there, and I was out by myself, so decided to wait until you'd left."

Surprisingly, that was the truth - though the other man wouldn't know it.

The Atenist narrowed his eyes.

"A spy, then, are you?" though it wasn't a question. "Pharaoh has all sorts of spies. Even ones who go out for walks to keep from going crazy."

"Persistent little bugger, aren't you? Got better things to do than to snoop around. What do I do to prove I'm not out to kill you?"

"Tell me what you want, Master Spy. We can start with that."

"Really, what I want is to know why I'm out in the middle of East Bumfuck with nothing to do. Came from the border. All sorts showed up there, friendly and not; went out on plenty of sorties to keep the peace. Lots of action, rarely a dull moment. And then we end up here twiddling our thumbs. I'm a charioteer for Thoth's sake - a charioteer! Haven't even seen a horse since I got here." Bakenranef didn't need to fake the annoyance in his voice.

"Troublemaker, then?" Something in the Atenist's voice seemed a little - less harsh, if not exactly soft. The grip on the knife relaxed slightly.

"Trouble's my middle name," Bakenranef grinned. "Though they call me Bakenranef." He held out his hand.

"Bakenranef. Means 'Servant of the Name of Ra'." He spat in disgust. "One of the old gods, of course. Troublemaker? More a spy." The hand didn't go out in response.

Anger briefly flashed in Bakenranef's eyes, though he remained calm and focused. "Most would offer their own names in return, as a gesture of friendship."

"It's Idu." the man replied, tauntingly.

"Idu? Boy?" Bakenranef hadn't been expecting that. "They call you _boy_?"

"Was a foundling." The knife edged back up.

"'The foundling priest.' Now who is playing with whom? And can you put the knife down? A little concerned about the family jewels at the moment. You're all the way over there. I'm not about to jump you." Though a different definition of _jump_ flickered across his mind.

This man, _Idu_, laughed, a low-down, quick, and dirty chuckle which settled in Bakenranef's belly. Maybe it wasn't a voluntary gesture, but it was there. "You head straight for the beer jar, your first concern is for the 'family jewels' rather than your neck - I'm sure your priorities are in the right place."

"Well,..." Bakenranef paused, "gotta keep an eye out for my interests. If I don't, no one else will. Though I do have a fondness for my neck, too."

The Atenist laughed. But he did lower the blade.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thud-thud-thud._

Bakenranef's feet slapped against the ground as his legs churned out power. He was running along the streets of Akhetaten, following the same path as before, although later than normal; one of the guards had been awake, so they'd chatted while he squirmed inside. Finally, he'd moved off for a piss then gone back to his pallet; and finally, _finally_, the man nodded off. Bakenranef had slipped out; and once out of range, had soared flying to make it to the Atenist's spot before Amon-Ra did.

_Amon-Ra meets the Aten. Now there's a combination._

The itch had died down to a dull hum. _Exercise has been doing me good._ Bakenranef intended to keep it that way.

His strides were now full and reaching, eating up the ground at full strength. He felt like now he could outrun even Pharaoh himself during his _heb-sed_ festival. And there was the temple wall, and now he was running alongside it, and up ahead he could make out the field. Here came the palms:

_Three_ thud-thud-thud _two_ thud-thud-thud _one_...

The field was bare.

Just then, the sun broke over the tops of the eastern cliffs.

# # #

"That's the third time, mate. Okay - what spear has worked its way up your arse?"

Bakenranef abruptly looked up to see Ramose glaring back at him, obviously annoyed.

It had been five days since the Atenist Idu had last appeared at dawn. Bakenranef was sure the man was gone; he'd gotten out and checked the field each morning, with no success.

But he couldn't tell Ramose that.

_Deflect, deflect, deflect._

"No idea what you mean," he deadpanned. "Why should anything be wrong? We're just in the middle of fucking nowhere, with nothing to do. That's why I joined Pharaoh's army; what, that's not your reason?"

"You're bitten off the proprietor's head twice, you haven't tried to sweet-talk his wife at all, and - worst of all - you haven't touched your duck. That's a sure sign of serious trouble. What happened? Some local girl turned you down?"

It suddenly occurred to Bakenranef that he hadn't even _noticed_ any of the local girls in the months they'd been there.

_Damn heretic. Probably's put a hex on me._

"It was you who was going on about avoiding the locals, in case it came back to bite us. I realised you were right, though no way I was going to tell you that. Your head's big enough now."

Ramose ignored the barb. "And now you're so on edge that even Tchay the trainer doesn't want to face you in hand-to-hand combat practice. What the hell has crawled under your skin?"

"Nothing's wrong. My skin's tough as an old sandal. Why should something be wrong? Even this place turning everybody stir crazy isn't exactly 'wrong'. Really not that much different from our old duty postings."

"You were always bollocks at lying. Look, Bakenranef. I get that this is an odd, abnormal posting. And you've always been your own man. But don't get brought up on insubordination charges. Took me long enough to get you trained; don't want to have to do that all over again."

"Aw, didn't know you cared. I'm touched," Bakenranef quipped flatly.

"I'm serious, Bakenranef. This is a dangerous world; more politics at a much higher level than we've ever faced before. And it could all go belly-up at any time. Find a girl looking for a bit of fun, and have that fun. But don't place yourself in the middle of anything bigger than yourself."

"As if I would," Bakenranef replied. But a curl of fear rippled in his stomach.

# # #

As the days passed, Bakenranef found himself rising earlier and running farther and farther. He would make his way beyond the city outskirts into the desert, following the extension of the wide boulevard which wended its way towards the eastern cliffs.

He wasn't sure which was more distracting: the restlessness driving him into the hills, or the anger at Idu the Atenist for disappearing like that. And truthfully - why should he care if the idiot fell off the edge of the earth into the Underworld? Everyone eventually ended up there, anyway.

_No skin off my nose._

Just then, something shot through his foot and he crashed into a sprawl in the dirt. There were several seconds of pain until he wrestled the sensation into a focused, manageable point.

_First, the wound._ He probed around his foot and ankle, and hissed at the sensation on the side of his joint. After a few deep breaths, he dared to stand. Fortunately, he was able to put his weight on it, although there was great pain.

_Not broken, then._ At least there was that.

Next, he gazed around at this surroundings, figuring out how far he'd made it out of the city. Surprisingly, low scrub and rocks, rather than cultivated plants or even sand, dotted the landscape. This was far from the edge of town, farther than he'd been before, farther than he'd planned on going.

He'd made it as far as the base of the cliffs.

All because he'd been so absorbed in his thoughts.

_Shit. Need to go back. Pronto._

A snort cut across the night's silence.

_Lion? Hyena?_

Coming across a lion or jackal in broad daylight was bad enough. Coming across a pack of hyenas on a moonless night was much worse - the pack would attack as one and slowly eat you alive.

At least he had his dagger. He wasn't going to go down without a fight.

The snuffling was getting closer; he was now at least able to better pinpoint the direction the danger was coming from. It would be a matter of staying alert, looking and listening for signs of attack.

The sounds were close, but not getting nearer. _About to attack, then._

He thought he could see a dark shape beneath a bush.

He held the knife at the ready, keeping alert.

The dark shape launched itself, paws extending forward -

And another shape intercepted it mid-flight, barreling into it and bringing it down.

It only took an instant for Bakenranef to absorb the shock; but he almost instantly noticed that the other shape was human, which was more than enough for him to leap into the fray as much as he could.

The creature was fighting back, large claws scraping the air for something to latch onto. The attacker had stretched himself out over the creature, able to avoid the deadly swipes, and was heavily leaning a forearm against the neck, slowly choking the life out of the beast.

"Don't mind me," he grunted at the other man, and slipped in below the arm, to lend his own weight and draw a dagger across the neck.

Within a few minutes, the creature was dead, muscle spasms dying off in the prone body. The other man slowly eased off the form.

"You have impeccable timing, Sunshine. What the hells are you doing out here?" It was Idu.

"I could ask the same thing, since you seem to have disappeared," Bakenranef replied diffidently.

"I'm not out trying to get killed by lions, either."

"Well, that wasn't the intent," Bakenranef pointed out. "Wasn't intending to go out this far, period. Though I definitely appreciate the help. How did you learn to do that? And where are your clothes?"

For the man was absolutely, gloriously naked.

"We Atenists have many talents. And clothes? Didn't need them at the moment, did I? They are safe and sound - and clean, unlike me at the moment. Or you."

"Clothing and you, they don't exactly agree, do they?" Bakenranef persisted. _Letting on a bit more than you probably should with that comment, Bakenranef._

"What exactly does that mean?"

"You seem to be quite the naturist, for a priest."

"Never mind what I am, I would expect your commanding officers would be none too happy to find you AWOL when they get up off their palettes. About time you head back home, innit?"

"No rush. Sun's not up yet." He wasn't looking forward to limping his way back to the barracks.

"It will be soon." The blue-green eyes looked him up and down. "Will you be able to get back like that? Can't exactly carry you myself."

"Don't have much of a choice, do I? Have to get back regardless. Though I should be able to make it; m'not completely out of sorts."

"Not convinced of that, but it's getting late." The man looked unsure for a minute, then apparently made his mind up about something. "Well, the impossible is our stock in trade. Wait here, I'll be right back." He headed off up the slope, then turned back to quip, "And try not to get eaten this time." He then headed away.

Curious, intrigued, Bakenranef pulled himself together and followed after the man, albeit slowly. It wasn't particularly difficult; he'd only gone off a short distance, around a boulder. Bakenranef pulled himself alongside the boulder and watched the other man, who stood poised, ready.

Just then, the sun peaked over the top of the cliff, to hit the valley behind them. The man unfolded and began his chant.

Bakenranef watched the body: the shape, the movements, the deep tones of the song resonating from the lips. They awakened a longing, a yearning, a desire in his soul for this body before him.

And Idu seemed to be one with his god; oblivious to all beyond the words issuing from mouth, the act that he was a part of.

He wanted to soar was well, fly into the sky, though the pain in his ankle kept him tethered.

Finally, the song ended, the sun now fully bathing them in this spot. And the man turned around.

Bakenranef was struck by how Idu's worship practice always made him seem almost otherworldly, another being, part of the ceremony he'd just created. Alive, electric.

He seemed to barely notice Bakenranef, but moved closer to stand before him.

Bakenranef stared back at him. _I could just reach out, touch him -_

And he did, gently swiping the tips of his fingers over the golden skin and the ridge of the cheek.

Idu stood, looking back at him.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against the others, then drew back a bit, afraid to break the spell.

The lips leaned forward and met his again.

And it was as if a dam had broken.

The gentle touches because harder, then a mashing of lips and teeth together, as if they were about to consume each other, get underneath each others' skin. Bakenranef's hands frantically played over the warm body beneath them, mapping out and memorising each muscle and ridge and whorl. He felt other hands in similar exploration over his, traversing his arms and shoulders and back quickly, as though they were about to lose the opportunity.

They levered themselves onto the ground, where the frantic exploration continued, and he felt the need grow in his loins.

But - there was an answering hardness against his leg, while hands scrambled at his loincloth. And then there was nothing between them, not a scrap of clothing preventing them from lying skin to skin, and heart to heart.

His hands found the other's buttocks, which he began to knead, a soft but sustained grunt his answer.

He then slipped between the legs, which easily opened for him, and started to rub with his urgency.

The other body matched his, stroke for stroke, and then set a furious pace, which it would have been clear couldn't be maintained - had they been sane. They moved as one, and electricity crackled between them. Bakenranef felt like he was climbing, climbing, up towards the sky, his skin on fire. He was just there, just there -

And then he was crashing down, a wave cresting over him, his essence spewing out, his mind clear of everything beyond the feeling soaring from his breast.

He rolled onto his back, and looked into the sky. And knew a peace he'd never experienced before.

# # #

Of course, Bakenranef had a difficult time of it once back at camp.

Naturally, there were expected questions about where he'd been and how he'd been injured. But compounded on top of that were queries about why he was absent from camp without permission.

Idu had helped him as far as the boulevard where the barrack lay, the two of them silent though companionable as they covered the ground. Bakenranef appreciated the solid feel of the body propping him up and missed the warmth once they'd parted.

But they spoke not a word. And he had no idea where the priest had taken off to.

Once back at camp, Bakenranef described a full night of carousing in the village which then fell afoul of a pothole, forcing him to hobble his way back. The explanation did seem just this side of plausible for the bangs and bruises; and he ended with little more than a stern reprimand, a remit to the camp doctor, and extended kitchen duty once he had healed sufficiently.

It had been a delicate balancing act to craft the story; he hadn't been sure he'd pull it off. But he escaped having to bring up either the Atenist or his trip to the cliffs.

The days went by as his body mended; but being confined to camp didn't put him as on edge as he'd thought it would. The healer prescribed various unguents and spells, the other men made jokes at his expense, and he wasn't able to move nearly as quickly as he felt he ought to. But he'd gotten off lightly and he knew it.

No, he felt a kind of contentment. And the Atenist hadn't disappeared, after all.

Ramose gave him the occasional side-eye, as though he suspected something else. But he did not directly ask anything, and Bakenranef didn't volunteer it.

# # #

Once Bakenranef was sturdier on his feet and working off his punishment in the kitchens, he started plotting his next moves.

As aware and focused as ever, he kept an eye out, still waking early enough before Amon-Ra started his journey across the sky to stare at the stars and wonder if the Atenist was once again in the field starting his devotions.

He had to talk to him, find out what exactly was going on. Oh, _something_ was going on, he was sure of it; but it didn't seem as cut and dried as he'd once thought. _It would have been easy enough to let me die from an animal attack, easily explained, no witness left._

_Or maybe I was too close to whatever it is he's doing that they wouldn't want attention brought to the area._

And the sex had been... another dimension.

His commander was quite the strategist, but Bakenranef found doublethink just plain annoying.

He looked up at the cliffs looming to the east.

_I need to get back up there, find out what's going on._

Kitchen duty would end soon enough. And then nothing would keep him off the cliffs.

# # #

"So - where to today, mate?" Ramose glanced down the boulevard, squinting in the midday sun.

Bakenranef looked in the same direction, discouraged by the few people out on the boulevard - and the man seemingly attached to his hip.

"Could go to the House of Beer. You have a fondness for the duck morsels - and the wife of the proprietor," Ramose suggested.

"Nah, the village isn't so attractive since," and Bakenranef waggled his fingers in the air.

"I would think that your miss would want to see how you're doing."

"Thinks I'm an idiot, more like." _He's not a miss, and he's not in the village, but the 'thinks-I'm-an-idiot' part probably applies._ "Nah, would like to stay here today, work on strengthening the ankle a bit more."

"Sure?" Ramose looked closely at him.

"Sure." Bakenranef didn't like the scrutiny, but didn't flinch.

"Okay, maybe tomorrow, then."

"Maybe." Bakenranef moved off to work on his ankle exercises.

# # #

It was maybe a fortnightly later that white sails were spotted bobbling along the waves, coming from upstream.

The barracks operated under smooth efficiency - war games were cancelled, and a quick round of policing soon had the camp in tiptop shape and the men lined up in ranks.

_Whoever they are, must be expected, then._ Bakenranef mused, though he refused to speculate what the ships brought with them.

The soldiers marched from the barracks down to the pier they'd landed at months back. The white sail had resolved into a messenger boat, of Pharaoh's fleet, which now manoeuvred alongside the dock in preparation of landing.

Once the ship - a swift, sleek craft, built to cut through the waves at speed - was secure, figures began to ceremoniously disembark and regroup on the dock. The barracks commander and a few of his lieutenants made their way forward to greet the figures amor the ship.

"Welcome to the Khnum Battalion, stationed at Akhetaten," the commander bowed, then gestured in welcome to the visitors. He was completely at ease with the appearance of the delegation.

_What happened to 'Chariots of Khnum'?_ Bakenranef thought, irked, though he supposed he shouldn't be terribly surprised.

"We welcome your welcome," responded one of the visitors, presumably their spokesman. "We come bearing the word of Pharaoh Horemhab, Holy are the Manifestations of Re - Life! Prosperity! Health!" The man struck his breast fervently, reverentially.

"Life! Prosperity! Health!" the men shouted back with one voice.

There was just the right pause, and then: "Please honour us by joining us, and partake of our refreshments," the commander continued. "Thus we may rejoice in the news of Our Majesty's Word, and give it the honour it deserves."

"We would be honoured to do so," the main emissary replied.

The welcoming ceremony over, the visitors then mounted their own chariots and took position between the commander's small group and the unit. The procession moved towards the barracks.

His feet kept in step with the men around him, but inside Bakenranef's mind raced. He had known this day would eventually arrive, when they would finally learn why they had been posted here. He had his own thoughts on what duties they would be eventually given; but now that the day had arrived, he felt ill at ease.

Thoughts of the Great Temple of the Aten - dark and terrible thoughts - danced at the edges of his consciousness, refusing to make themselves clear.

There was no sign of even the few civilians who would normally be out on the boulevard at this time of day, and definitely no priests of the Aten. Bakenranef had no doubt that they were well aware that new visitors had come to Akhetaten.

Once inside the gates, the men pivoted to stand in formation, as their leaders and the visitors stood at the platform before the commander's tent.

"Please, enter and be welcome here," the commander gestured, and the party entered the tent.

# # #

"Battalion, fall out!"

The men were given leave for a quick meal of bread, onions, and beer. Bakenranef grabbed his ration quickly and found a space to the side, eating as he played out scenarios in his head.

_They'll want us to move the priests. They'll want us to guard the place. They'll want us to..._

He wasn't sure what else they'd want them to do, wasn't even sure who 'they' were, didn't want to think the worst, but there was one overriding thought: _Must get to Idu._

_But when? And how?_

A mat fell to the ground next to him, a small jug and loaf finding their places on it as a form sat on the earth. "Ramose," Bakenranef said, keeping his voice even, although he would have preferred being alone.

"So, my friend, now it comes. We finally find out what the past months have been in service to."

He grunted and took a bite of a loaf and an onion.

"I, for one, am happy. Means we can get out of here soon. This place is too quiet. Not good for any of us."

"Mrumpf," Bakenranef mumbled around his full mouth.

"Doubt that we'll leave without some sort of action, though it should be quick," Ramose studied Bakenranef for a reaction. "Wouldn't want to be with that lot at the temple. Oh, excuse me. Forgot that your food comes first.'

"Mmm uuuf." Bakenranef flashed a look, hoping it would get Ramose off his back.

"Well, eat up, my friend. We won't have long for this."

Bakenranef knew his friend was right.

# # #

Their brief meal over, the men had moved back into formation, awaiting the reemergence of their leaders and the visitors from the commander's tent.

The heat shimmered up from the dirt, and the wind carried some snorts and neighs from the visitors' horses; but overall, the grounds were silent as the men waited.

For Bakenranef, the wait was excruciating. But he used the time to sort through possible actions - none of which seemed possible.

_The impossible is our stock in trade._ He smiled to himself.

The tent flap moved a bit, and then then leaders emerged from the interior to stand officiously before the soldiers. "Loyal soldiers of Khnum Battalion!" the commander shouted.

"SIR!" they responded as one. Each man stood, proud, as much part of the ceremony as their commanders at their head.

"We are honoured that Pharaoh - life, prosperity, health! - has chosen to send his representative to spread his word and his commands. Please," and the commander gestured to the messenger, " honour us with the Word of Pharaoh."

The man stepped forward, sure, self-possessed.

"I come as the Representative of Pharaoh, and I bring his word." He drew up a scroll, and carefully unrolled it.

_The Heretic is no more, _his voice rang out_._

_ He who denied the gods, and brought woe upon the land, has long sailed upon the Solar Barque of Ra to the Underworld, to his meeting in the Halls of the Two Truths. He has stood before Ma'at in judgment. _

_ He, and his fate before the Forty-Two Assessors, are beyond us. They are not of our concern._

_ But even after the Heretic attained his horizon, the land has continued on in sorrow. The crops have failed, the Great Road does not flood as it should, and the people cry out in hunger. _

_ The poor man aims to provide his obligations to Pharaoh - Life! Prosperity! Health! - and yet Pharaoh's administrators steal food from the people's mouths and keep the earnings for themselves. _

_ At our borders, the barbarians, unchecked for years, threaten us. The Asiatics freely attack our outposts, and kidnap and murder our allies._

_ And even the soldiers sworn to protect the land have stolen the cattle of their very livelihood from the people. _

_ The hand of Isfet spreads decay and threatens our existence. _

_ We have not done enough; the evil of the heretic's time has not been sufficiently exorcised and remains among us still. _

_ His majesty took counsel with his heart on how he might expel the evils heavy upon the land and deliver the people from the oppressions among them. He has searched the land for instances of oppression. And then he called his scribe to take note and record His Majesty's decisions. _

_The Pharaoh has thus decreed:_

_ Justice shall be brought unto the people. For those who unlawfully take the honest labor of the people, he shall have his nose cut off and shall be exiled to the land of Tharu._

_ For those citizens of the army, who should steal from the people, the law shall be executed against him, by beating him a hundred blows, opening five wounds, and taking from him by force that which he had taken. _

_ As for any official or any priest who declares he sits to execute judgment, and yet commits a crime against justice therein, he shall be judged to have committed a capital crime. _

_ Behold, my majesty has done this, to improve the laws of Egypt, in order to cause that another of his subjects should not be harmed in any way._

_ Those who shall disobey, they shall be dealt with accordingly. _

_ My majesty has sent men throughout the land, to enforce his word and restore Ma'at to the land. _

_ This I declare in the name of Horus and the name of my majesty!_

_Decreed on this third day of the month of Paremhat, in the Peret season._

_Strong bull, whose plans are clever_

_Great of marvels in Ipetsut_

_Pleased with Maat, who re-created the Two Lands_

_The sacred one of the manifestations of Ra, chosen of Ra_

_Horemhab, Horus is in jubilation!_

# # #

"So that's what it's all about."

The heralds were gone, having returned to their ship on the way to their next stop, and the battalion was back in the barracks. The men milled about, in a haze of preparations for specific orders. Ramose was inventorying his few items in preparation for whatever next step they would be give. - they still weren't quite sure.

"They won't tell us exactly what until they're ready to move, but it sounds like we're be clearing out the Atenists, maybe do a little housekeeping against the temple. Should be glad you didn't get too tangled up over there."

"Right." Bakenranef was going through the motions, getting his kit together. "Maybe we'll then get back to what we were meant to do, hop on the chariot again."

"You didn't, did you?"

"Didn't what?"

"Get too tangled up, Bakenranef."

"Why would I do that? Pharaoh Horemhab, Life Prosperity Health, certainly has gotten strict. His punishments sound more like the Assyrian barbarians' playbook than anything traditionally Egyptian. Why would I stick my neck out for that? I for one, like me nose - figure it should stay on my face."

"Good; was getting a little concerned. Woke up one night, you were gone, no explanation." Ramose stared directly at him.

"Just a bit of fun. Kept it quiet, because I didn't want any relatives after me. You saw what happened with my ankle; I'd say that was more than enough punishment."

"Do I have anything to worry about with you?"

_Just mind your business, and you won't._ "No. Not that you would anyway."

# # #

It was a risk - especially now since Ramose was watching his every step - but he had to do it.

Bakenranef arose from his pallet and strode over to a guard, making just enough noise that Ramose would have noticed. He quietly strode to one of the guards and engaged him in a bit of talk, then quietly noting that Ramose had changed position so that his head was facing the right direction. He then wandered further off, pissed appropriately, and wandered back to his pallet.

Ramose seemed motionless, and Bakenranef settled himself in further.

After about three quarters of an hour, he rose again and, holding his stomach, wandered back to the latrine area, stayed for a few unites, then returned.

After another quarter of an hour, he arose again.

"You okay?" came from the other mat.

"Yes, probably a bad onion or such. Will just stay out there a bit, try to empty it all out."

"Be my guest." Ramose sleepily turned over in the other direction, and Ramose moved off towards the latrine.

Once there, he skirted around the back, and then took off for the Great Temple of the Aten.

# # #

"Idu."

Bakenranef spoke quietly, not sure if anyone else would be present.

"Idu."

A figure emerged from the shadows of the temple and stealthily made its way over. "Bakenranef?" whispered from the darkness.

"Need to talk to you."

"I'm here."

They moved over to stand together. Bakenranef ached to kiss the man, but this was important.

"Idu. The word has come from Wastet. We will start moving against the temple, and possibly more, very soon."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, I expect they will call in a few more reinforcements before moving. But it shouldn't take more than a fortnight or so for that to happen."

Idu stood quiet and contemplating.

"You'll have to make arrangement to leave, you know. Few places around here to hide once they've come."

"Shhh." Idu briefly placed his finger against Bakenranef's lips. "Not yet, we have things yet to do."

"But soon! You can't stay here. Tell your people, gather your things -"

"Shhh. It will not be tonight, and we have not be unaware of this possibility. We have time."

Idu took him by the hand and led him to a simple mat in the moonlight. They sank down to kneel upon it.

They paused, looking at each other; and then Bakenranef and Idu leaned together just close enough to kiss.

Kissing the man was always the most joyous thing that Bakenranef could have imagined. The mouth was moist, and dark, and full of promise. He could spends days just exploring it and be completely satisfied.

The mouths moved apart for a second, for a quick breath, and Bakenranef drew back to see the blue-green orbs open and completely focus on him.

He could swear the eyes smiled back at him, a little crinkle to the sides, and then he heard a low murmur, breath ghosting against his cheek.

"Eh?" Bakenranef asked, and was then unceremoniously shoved onto his back. The man put a finger to his lips, a crafty smiling framing it, as he made himself comfortable sat on Bakenranef's hips.

Bakenranef shrugged slightly, smiling back broadly, as if to say, _do your worst_. He then relaxed all his muscles, waiting to see what the other man would do.

The curly head dipped reverently; the full lips took a few swipes at Bakenranef's partially opened ones, reverentially and then engaged his mouth in an intense battle.

He then pulled back, the storm abating, and whispered, "I breathe the sweet breath, which comes forth from thy mouth."

He then leaned forwards, and proceeded to consume Bakenranef's skin. Starting from his face, he slowly licked across the expanse of skin, every so often taking a quick nip. Each touch electrified Bakenranef, went straight to his groin.

The man stopped just before the thick patch of public hair, Bakenranef's member jutting, straining up. He couldn't remember being this much in need before.

The man stared at Bakenranef's cock.

"I behold thy beauty every day."

And then he fell upon it.

Bakenranef nearly shot straight up from the mat.

All sorts of things streamed through his body - the hot moisture of the air, the chirps of the crickets, the scratchy reeds of the mat beneath him; the moist, kind warmth of the mouth, the quiet slurping, the low hum - _he's humming?_ vibrating against his cock.

It was all too much; his heart raced and he could feel his completion coming, wouldn't be able to last very much longer -

Then the mouth stopped, and a cool hand grabbed the base of his cock.

Bakenranef's heart wanted to give out. He heard a distant moan, which he realised had come from him.

But slowly, slowly, his heart slowed down. Though his cock lost little enthusiasm; indeed, it had lost almost none at all.

The hand slowly released his cock, and the other body drew back. In his fevered state, Bakenranef tried to make his limbs obey his command and find out what was going on.

A "hush" sounded somewhere, and he felt some shifting, and some cool unguent slid along his cock. He realised there had been little change down there, and a quick hysterical laugh burbled from his lips.

He opened his eyes _I'd closed them?_ and the man crouched above his cock, one hand on his torso, about to impale himself on Bakenranef. They locked eyes, and then he said,

"It is my desire, that I may be rejuvenated, with life through love of thee."

And then he slid carefully down Bakenranef, inch by inch, until he was fully impaled.

Bakenranef felt that the tales of the Underworld and the Afterlife had gotten it wrong, were pale imitations of reality. His reality was in the hot clench around his cock, uniting him with this other soul, the temporary act branding him for all eternity. He had just enough presence of mind to focus on the other man, who - although now looking almost as fevered as Bakenranef felt, still had enough self-control to wait and adapt to the shaft buried in him, then to lean slightly forward and grab both Bakenranef's hands in his own.

He grinned - which once again went to Bakenranef's groin, which in turn made the other man gasp a bit - and then he leaned forward.

"Give me thy hands, holding thy spirt, that I may receive it and may live by it."

And then he started to move.

Incredibly, all that had proceeded this act was just a prologue. Bakenranef was now on a level he had never experienced before. He felt himself to be a virgin to something he'd done multiple times before; floating above in the heavens, among the gods, this wonderful creature his companion. The delays, the holding back earlier; if anything it may have served to help build his stamina at the crucial juncture, so that he could complete this act in full.

Bakenranef brought his knees up to steady the other man; then swiftly, deftly, he quickly flipped the two of them over, just managing not to break contact between their hands. Taken off guard, the other man was surprised but followed Bakenranef's lead, letting him take over with a salacious grin.

Though Bakenranef was sure that this ceding of control was only for the moment.

Nevertheless, he got to work, setting a whirlwind pace as he drove into the other's body.

On they went, feeling the threads of their pleasure intertwine, as the pleasure itself built more and more. Bakenranef slightly changed his angle, and was more than a little smug to hear a low moan of pleasure from the other man. _Hit just the right angle._ He was nothing if not conscientious in his lovemaking, and he'd be damned to the maw of Ammit if he didn't take his partners' pleasure into consideration as well.

Plus he wanted to bring Idu along on the river of pleasure that he sailed. If the response was any measure, the man was well along himself.

But it was close now; he could feel the conflagration building in his loins, read to explode. Just there, there, _**there**_ \- and he was lost in it, his soul mindlessly bursting forth, a blaze brighter than a thousand suns bursting before him.

When he came back into himself, he was laying atop the other man, who was pushing at him to move. He seemed slightly annoyed at the weight atop him; but, if the wetness between them and the lazy smile around the edge of the lips were any indication, was more than a little pleased.

Bakenranef obliged and shifted; they rearranged themselves until they lay, exhausted, side by side on the mat. Bakenranef sleepily turned towards him; the other man yawned, then turned and snuggled against him.

Just as he was nodding off, he heard softly, "Call thou upon my name unto eternity, and it shall never fail. And this is how we worship the Aten."

_If this is how the Atenists worship_, Bakenranef's thoughts drifted, _then consider me a convert_.

# # #

A few days later - too soon, to Bakenranef - a cluster to ships came upstream from the direction of Wastet. There wasn't a man in camp who didn't know what this sign meant.

Ramose and Bakenranef focused on readiness - making sure their kits were at hand in case they were needed in a hurry; continuing on with the square practicing war games. The daily march was no longer as necessary, and was conducted only every few days.

Their task now was to be prepared.

Bakenranef ached to see Idu, but knew that the man was more than able to take care of himself. He just wanted to know that the priests - really, Idu himself - were preparing to leave and taking the threat seriously.

So when the ships appeared, Bakenranef's battalion - _Former Chariots of Khnum_, he ruefully recollected - was ready for anything.

Except Bakenranef had to check on the Atenist, one last time.

_It's late in the day, these troops will need to disembark and settle down. There should be one more day, before any actions are taken._

At least he hoped so.

# # #

Bakenranef slipped out from the barracks and ran to, and then down, the path to the village. By now, it was common belief that he'd found a village girl and had gone to burn off every last bit of energy while he could; even Ramose was fairly convinced of it. He felt no compunction to let any of them know otherwise; it suited his purposes very well.

_Village: a bit of fun. Temple: traitor to the land._ So the village it was. He just had to be sure no one was following him.

They'd agreed to meet in the tent the evening after any ships had arrived; the time had come.

Idu turned to Bakenranef, his face glowing in the reflected moonlight.

_I have to save him._

"The reinforcements are here. You have to leave. Now."

"No." Idu looked almost sad.

"What do you mean, 'no'? They will be looking for you. I can't guarantee what will happen, but it won't be pretty."

"Can't, Bakenranef. Too many obligations. The village will collapse without us."

"The village will be without you anyway! Don't be daft - they don't give a fig about you. We - you - can come back later, whenever the operation is done." He wasn't sure how 'we' factored into this.

"Made a promise, Bakenranef. Have to carry it out."

"You mean the stupidity about the Heretic?"

Idu made an exceedingly exasperated face. "Told you - made a promise."

"Told _you_ \- if you don't shift your ass, you won't have to worry about keeping anything."

"Bakenranef," Idu turned fully to him, put firm, warm hands on Bakenranef's biceps. "Told you I was a foundling. The Temple took me in as a sprog. Should tell you the rest.

"Pharaoh and the people of Akhetaten had a close bond, even more than the average village of Khem. Our purpose was to build, harvest, support. Well, the people served Pharaoh - but Pharaoh served the people. It was He who created the work that kept everything running and the people fed. And when Pharaoh passed on and the Court moved away to gain the graces of the new Pharaoh, taking all who could leave -"

"You took the place of the Court, and kept the villagers from starving."

"Yes, but not just that. We made a promise, to look over the well-being of those who had gone ahead."

"And you have," Bakenranef pointed out. "You seem to stay hidden behind your temple walls; but if you're any guide, your lot must sneak out all over the place when no one is looking."

"Yes, to make sure that the village has what we can give them, and that we ensure by any means Pharaoh is undisturbed. But this - this," he gestured with his broad hands, that Bakenranef was learning to love, "this is beyond anything that we can guard against. If the troops desecrate Pharaoh's tomb, we can't stop them."

"So what do you intend... Oh, no, no," Bakenranef looked probably one hundredth as shocked as he felt.

"Yes - we need to move him to a place of safety. Pharaoh Akhenaten, Life Prosperity Health, will have to be moved from the hills of Akhetaten."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for the Horizon of the Aten by Golden_bastet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219254) by [Banbury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banbury/pseuds/Banbury)


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